


of experiments and perfect endings

by TroglodyteMonologue



Series: oh my god, they were roommates [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mirror Sex, Misunderstandings, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, this is both emotional and filthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27692777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroglodyteMonologue/pseuds/TroglodyteMonologue
Summary: “Like what you see?”Kenma’s eyes slide up and Kuroo is grinning at him through the reflection, eyes narrow and smug. Only he could pull off such a cheeky, self satisfied air without coming off as the most pompous asshole on the planet. Kenma would never say it, but he’s pulled in by Kuroo’s confidence and charisma just like everyone else. Even if it’s half an act.Kenma tucks a damp lock of hair behind his ear and restores his attention on the game at hand.  “Don’t get a big head,” he warns.When they share a hotel room for the first time, Kuroo is both adventurous and needy. And Kenma isn't used to leaving his comfort zone. But he will for Kuroo.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Series: oh my god, they were roommates [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025176
Comments: 46
Kudos: 455
Collections: Recommended KuroKen Fics, kuroken s





	of experiments and perfect endings

By most accounts, Kenma and Kuroo shouldn’t work.

Kenma never expected their friendship to last. He never expected to go to the same high school as Kuroo. He never expected to join the volleyball team together. He never expected for Kuroo — with a grin so cool it turned the sweat on Kenma’s nape to ice — to lean down and kiss him goodnight one summer evening after a late practice. Like it was simple. Like it was the natural progression of things. Kenma let the screaming cicadas drown out the doubts in his head and rolled with the new development.

But Kenma never expected it to last.

Because it would be remiss to ignore that, the more time passes, the more divergent their personalities and interests become. Kuroo is a converted extrovert, while Kenma is prone to hermitude. Kuroo is active and athletic from sunrise to sunset, while Kenma prefers to be glued to a screen from dusk until dawn. And Kuroo is insatiable, where Kenma can go weeks without thinking about sex.

But Kenma can’t go a day without thinking about Kuroo. 

Not thinking about sex with Kuroo, per se. But other intimate, inherently provocative things about Kuroo that are just impossible to ignore. Like how nice his long fingers and large, flat palms look when he absentmindedly twirls a pencil in his hand. Or the glint of his particularly sharp canine teeth when he flashes a borderline salacious grin. Or the way Kuroo is generally, as Kenma once overheard a first year girl so elegantly say, ‘Sex on legs.’ And perhaps Kenma’s libido is lacking, but he has eyes.

“This is so much better than being crammed in a classroom like a can of sardines,” Kuroo says.

Kenma makes an affirmative, yet noncommittal sound from where he’s laid across the bed on his stomach, propped up on his elbows with his hands predictably occupied by his console. It’s just for one night — the result of overbooking the dorms for an away volleyball camp — but it’s the first time Kuroo and Kenma have slept in the same space without their teammates beside them or their parents in the next room. Kenma tries not to think about it so hard. The extra space is a luxury and Kuroo never complains about the glow from his screen like Yaku does, so it is nice.

Kenma glances up at his boyfriend through the large mirrored closet directly in front of him. Kuroo stands near the bathroom counter, water still dripping down the firm lines of his body, wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts, and violently rubbing his hair with a towel. When Kuroo lifts his arms, the muscles in his abdomen shift and twist beneath tanned skin. It’s a sight Kenma quietly and guiltily enjoys. He has played hundreds of games and no computer designed abs have ever been so fascinating. Perhaps the men in games are bigger, more chiseled and refined, but they never get the nuanced sensuality and movement _quite_ right.

“Like what you see?”

Kenma’s eyes slide up and Kuroo is grinning at him through the reflection, eyes narrow and smug. Only he could pull off such a cheeky, self satisfied air without coming off as the most pompous asshole on the planet. Kenma would never say it, but he’s pulled in by Kuroo’s confidence and charisma just like everyone else. Even if it’s half an act.

Kenma tucks a damp lock of hair behind his ear and restores his attention on the game at hand. “Don’t get a big head,” he warns. A year ago, he would have blushed. Now that he’s used to Kuroo’s bedroom eyes, he can will the blood away from his face by force. But he hasn’t mastered the art of steadying his heartbeat.

A moment later, the bed shifts and creaks under the weight of another body. 

Similar to Kenma’s silent admiration of Kuroo, Kuroo himself is obsessed with physical attention from Kenma. 

Sex, kissing, hugging, holding hands, laying a head on Kenma’s lap, swinging an arm over his shoulder, a hand pressed against the small of his back — it’s all fair game. Kuroo is insistent and gluttonous when it comes to affection. A give an inch and take a mile sort of person. As long as Kuroo let’s him do what he wants most of the time, Kenma can be agreeable on occasion. But the limits Kenma does set, Kuroo accepts as gospel. 

And Kenma thinks that’s the crux of it; the reason _why_ , against so many odds, they work. Connection. Understanding. Respect. Kuroo respects and communicates with Kenma in a way others can’t really comprehend; and gives him the space he demands and pulls Kenma out of his shell so he can grow a little more. It is a delicate give and take they have honed over the years.

Still, Kuroo likes to push his luck.

“We got this big room all to ourselves. Would hate to waste it.”

Kenma doesn’t look up, but in his periphery he can see Kuroo’s large form looming over him. To everyone else, Kuroo is an intimidating and powerful figure. But Kenma knows better. He knows the litany of insecurities Kuroo hides behind the height, muscle, and easygoing, almost flippant, mask. He knows Kuroo is less like a predatory panther and more like a secretly needy, half-domesticated tom cat. So Kenma doesn’t even bat an eyelash when the black haired teen straddles his legs, hips pressed suggestively against his backside. 

Between the flimsy, breathable material of Kuroo’s shorts and Kenma’s joggers, little is left to the imagination. He leans down, pulls back a curtain of dyed blonde hair, and presses his face into the crook of Kenma’s neck. 

“You’re wet,” Kenma says with unfeigned annoyance in his tone. A cool dampness seeps through the back of his hoodie and Kenma would be more upset if Kuroo’s bodyheat wasn’t keeping him warm. “And heavy,” he adds so his boyfriend doesn’t misunderstand.

“See? I can’t get a big head. You say things like that and keep me humble,” Kuroo grins against his skin.

Kenma glances up when he knows he won’t be caught and watches Kuroo through the mirror’s reflection. It’s a bit voyeuristic — seeing Kuroo lean in and kiss the tender spot behind his ear. The view is mostly naked, broad shoulders and unruly black hair. But Kenma also catches half of the gentle, adoring look that pulls at the corners of Kuroo’s grin and glows behind his lowered lashes like embers. The grip Kenma has on his console goes weak and it almost slips from his hands. Kuroo doesn’t notice.

“Well someone has to tell you the truth,” Kenma says, eyes sliding back to his game with renewed effort. His thumbs tap away at the buttons and pretends he is unaffected by Kuroo’s oppressive affection. 

Kuroo looks up and rests his chin on Kenma’s shoulder. He regards their reflections with a lazy, sentimental expression. “And what’s the truth?” he asks, one hand playing with the hem of Kenma’s top.

Kenma levels his captain with an even stare. “That you’re a menace. On the court and off.”

Kuroo smiles, “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

He doesn’t.

Something unfamiliar flashes behind Kuroo’s eyes. To Kenma, his childhood friend has always been like an open book. Well, _everyone_ is an open book to Kenma. But the drop in Kuroo’s mood is so foreign that Kenma can’t quite place the name of it. Doubt, perhaps. Disappointment, maybe. It dawns on Kenma that he may have pressed a sore spot; that Kuroo might have had a particularly rough day and was hoping for a little warmth. He should know better than to expect it from Kenma, but Kenma is self aware enough to know when he’s made a misstep.

Kuroo’s long, calloused fingers slide beneath Kenma’s shirt and spread across his stomach near his navel. The rasp of skin on skin sends a chill down Kenma spine. Kuroo kisses the shell of his ear and whispers, “I wanna do something different. Think you could indulge me a little?”

It’s in Kenma’s nature to resist anything new. So looks down at his game and says, “We didn’t bring condoms.”

“Won’t need ‘em,” Kuroo says, with a confidence so raw it’s carnal. He always bounces back fast. Kuroo watches Kenma through the reflection as he sits up and shuffles backwards on his knees. “You don’t even have to stop your game if you don’t want. In fact, I’d like to see how long you can focus on it.”

Kenma rolls his eyes. “Your arrogance knows no bounds.” But, as a provocateur extraordinaire, Kuroo knows what he has done. 

Kenma can never say no to a little competition. 

So even when Kuroo’s large hands slide up the sides of his torso, hiking Kenma’s hoodie up around his shoulder blades and exposing his back to the warm hotel room air, Kenma doesn’t blink. He keeps his eyes on the game; eyes on the prize, even if it’s just his pride at stake. He has a few guesses as to the supposed ‘original’ idea rattling around in Kuroo’s head. But if he’s under the impression Kenma is going to break with a little bit of heavy petting and humping, Nekoma’s captain is in for disappointment. 

Grinning through the reflection as he moves, Kuroo traces the pads of his fingertips down Kenma’s spine, caressing each vertebrae starting at the place between Kenma’s shoulders and down to his tailbone. Kenma keeps his composure against his ticklish nature. 

“You like it,” Kuroo says, “C’mon, Kenma. No one else is here. No need to put on airs. You want me more than you care to admit.” He’s fishing for praise and Kenma doesn’t entirely know why. Kuroo has never needed that type of validation before.

“What I _want_ is for you to get on with it,” Kenma responds and he glances up. It’s the greenest light Kenma will ever give because his boyfriend is right: he wants Kuroo more than he will ever say aloud. 

Kuroo just tilts his head and smiles. “I like it when you play hard to get.”

With his focus on the console in his hands, Kenma can only see glimpses of Kuroo moving in his periphery. But Kenma can feel lips brush against his shoulder blades and warm breath ghosting over his skin, making him relax against his will. 

Kuroo likes foreplay. Vehemently so. The realization shouldn’t have surprised Kenma when they started getting serious. After all, Kuroo spends an inordinate amount of time riling up his opponents on the other side of the net; it makes sense that the same, provoking behavior would spill into other parts of his life. He gets a thrill from it, Kenma thinks. The steady build up, the control, staying cool and even as he pulls someone apart piece by piece. As he pulls Kenma apart piece by piece. It works on him most of the time and Kenma feels moderately embarrassed when his legs start to tremble and pathetic little noises begin to escape his own lips.

But tonight, Kenma is determined to hold his own.

Kuroo’s mouth is hot and open against Kenma’s nape. A wide tongue and parted lips travel down the juncture of his neck and shoulder to the softest stretch, where Kenma is more muscle than bone. He is sensitive there but Kuroo doesn’t bite hard. Just a scrape of teeth; enough for Kenma to feel his sharpness and enough to make Kuroo feel powerful. Even though they both know whatever power Kuroo has in their carefully balanced relationship simply comes from Kenma relinquishing his own.

With his eyes on their reflection, Kuroo nips at his skin at a lazy, unhurried pace. Kenma doesn’t even give him the satisfaction of a glance. Lips curl into a grin against him before Kenma feels them disappear altogether.

He focuses harder on his console as Kuroo slides further down his back and disappears from view. The quiet, 8-bit sound effects contrast the subtle, soft noises of lips parting and closing against skin. Kuroo isn’t being obscene, but Kenma can tell he’s trying to drown out the game’s soundtrack. Kenma turns the volume up two notches. His deliberate act of defiance earns a particularly harsh nip to his side that makes him flinch. Kuroo hums a chuckle. 

Push and pull. Always push and pull.

It’s a long session of peppered kisses and wandering hands. Kuroo is methodical in his approach. He starts more forceful and sharp, bringing Kenma up to his speed so he can decelerate to something more steady and mild. And it’s the softness that does Kenma in. Not the harsh press of nails or the canines against his jugular. It’s the wisps of breath against the stimulated, bitten patches and the tip of Kuroo’s nose nudging against his spine on accident that make Kenma lose his train of thought. By the time Kuroo has made it to the dimples on his hips, Kenma has repeated the same action in game six times.

His fingers hesitate on the buttons when Kuroo’s long fingers hook around the band of his joggers and boxers. With one strong tug, Kuroo pulls both layers down to the middle of Kenma’s thighs. It’s nothing they haven’t done before, but Kenma feels particularly exposed. If anything, his growing hard on pressing against the starched comforter makes him more aware of his own need. 

Pushing back onto his knees, Kuroo appears in Kenma’s periphery and the blonde instinctively looks up. Kuroo is looking down with pinpoint focus. “You have such a cute ass,” he says. 

Kenma flushes and conspicuously hides behind his console. 

Kuroo grins back at him, “I know you hate it when I say stuff like that but it’s the truth.”

“I just wish you wouldn’t be so vulgar,” Kenma says.

The black haired teen clicks his tongue. “Oh, Kenma, calling your ass cute is mild. If I really wanted to be nasty I’d give you some straight dirty talk. The kinda stuff that would make your ears turn red as your jersey.”

He senses Kuroo’s intentions and tries to cut it off at the pass. “Don’t you dare,” Kenma warns, if a little bit weak. When he turns his head to level his boyfriend with a threatening look, Kuroo’s face is suddenly right there. He holds himself suspended over Kenma on two strong arms, looking ridiculously satisfied with himself.

 _So handsome_ , Kenma’s brain suddenly betrays.

And instead of taunting Kenma further with salacious details, Kuroo simply says, “Hey.” His eyes are soft and his tone is easy and plain. Kenma immediately knows what he’s asking for. He twists a little bit more to get the angle right and Kuroo leans in. It’s a tender, uncomplicated kiss. Kenma’s favorite kind. A check in, just to make sure they are still connected. Still in sync. Despite their little squabble they still are. They always are.

And something in Kenma’s heart leaps against his ribcage. It feels like nothing he’s felt before. It’s like an electrical pulse; like a sudden burst of energy that came from a core place he never knew existed. He knows what it is. But he keeps it to himself.

Kenma breaks the kiss first so he can try and hide his feelings behind his game. But Kuroo is right there and the mirror betrays the extra color seeping into his face. Still, he puts up a front and challenges, “So far you haven’t done anything new.”

Kuroo kisses his ear and hums thoughtfully. The deep, resonant rumbling sends another shock through Kenma’s system. “So demanding,” he chides.

The black haired teen goes back on his haunches, taking away the heat against Kenma’s back. Kenma expects Kuroo’s fingers to dig into his hips and for a familiar bulge to press against his backside. Instead, Kuroo dips down and disappears from Kenma’s sightlines. 

Kuroo gives him no warning.

Large hands take handfuls of either cheek and pull, exposing the most intimate part of Kenma to the open air. He sucks in a gasp and goes to look over his shoulder. “You are such a perv— _Ah!_ ”

Something hot and wet passes over his hole and Kenma falters, shoulders prickling up. He almost loses grip on his console when his head drops and his mouth falls open, letting out one of those vulnerable, pathetic noises he hates so much. It’s a foreign sensation, one that he can’t decide whether he loves or hates. Because he immediately likes the way it feels. But his mind can’t get over the visceral, inherently obscene nature of the act.

With more confidence and width than before, the wetness presses against him again. And Kenma knows, without a doubt, what is happening when Kuroo moans and he can feel it between his legs.

“Oh my god. You’re such a — a — ” Kenma loses his confidence in words as Kuroo’s tongue moves with more certainty. It’s a first for both of them but Kuroo has unsurprisingly natural instincts for anything sexual. 

He licks systematically. He approaches this new way of pulling Kenma to pieces just like he does with everything else. He tests. He experiments. He catalogues which actions make Kenma flinch. Which makes him whimper. Kuroo has enough patience and focus for his indulgent process of trial and error. He tries with just the tip of his tongue, then with the wide flat. He rolls heavily back and forth, then just barely, playfully, flicks his tongue’s edge against Kenma’s rim. Then he presses an open mouth kiss against him, pushing heavy and just barely stretching; just teasing the possibility of slipping in and tasting. 

They say curiosity killed the cat, but it has only ever made Kuroo a better lover.

Kenma can feel the difference in each approach. But the sensations are so new, so heavy and thrilling, and so impossibly hard to focus on, that his mind has a hard time keeping up. Kenma only knows the thoughts that pass through his head with each new tease:

He _hates_ it.

He _loves_ it.

But god is it _gross_.

His tongue is so _hot_.

He’ll _kill_ Kuroo if he stops.

Kenma has all but forgotten about his game. His blurry vision watches the colorful screen, but he’s already lost the battle. The ‘Game Over’ music mixes with the wet, indecent noises Kuroo makes with his mouth until all Kenma’s ears can process is the blood pounding in his own head.

Kuroo pulls away and Kenma almost moans at the loss. Almost.

Kuroo raises to his knees and Kenma can’t help but look at the fucked out expression on his face. He’s grinning like a maniac, lips slick with spit, eyes half lidded and ablaze when he glances up at Kenma through the reflection. He’s enjoying himself. Probably even more than Kenma is.

“How’s your game?” he asks, so cocky Kenma almost wants to kick backwards into his stomach. Almost.

“Shut up,” he says instead and hides the screen from him. And Kuroo just chuckles.

“I need a bit more room,” he says and shuffles backwards to peel Kenma’s pants off the rest of the way. Kenma lets him. Without the waistbands trapping his thighs together, Kenma instinctively spreads his legs. Kuroo balls up the joggers and underwear and tosses them off the bed, muscles flexing and shifting as he moves. Kenma feels another jolt.

“Lift up your hips, baby,” his captain says, warm hands gently resting on Kenma’s sides. It’s less a demand and more a request; a plea even.

Kenma is past putting up a fight. So he pulls his knees toward his chest and lifts his ass high, keeping his torso and shoulders low. Just the way he knows Kuroo wants him. It’s an embarrassing position, especially when he can see every movement in the mirror ahead. He doesn’t like how desperate his body language is; the noticeable rise and fall of his chest as he breathes heavily. But Kenma likes the way Kuroo looks at him when he offers himself up. It’s want and adoration and hunger and wonder all rolled together. Involuntarily, Kenma’s hips lift even higher, back sloping even steeper.

Kuroo bites his lip and dives back in.

But this time, Kenma’s view is better. His hands stay clamped to his console out of sheer built-up tension, but his golden eyes are glued to the mirror. And Kuroo’s narrow, predatory gaze watches him right back.

Over the curves of Kenma’s body, Kuroo’s face from the bridge of his nose upward is visible. He has undoubtedly planned this; has wanted to make it possible for him to see Kenma slowly unravel at his whim. And when the first press of Kuroo’s tongue touches him, Kenma doesn’t want to give him such immediate satisfaction. He wants to make Kuroo work for it. But Kenma’s body is already responsive and aching, so he has to bury his face in the crook of his arm to conceal the rosy bloom across his cheeks.

Without Kuroo’s prompting and coaxing, Kenma knows he would never do this. Even a few months ago, he would have never let Kuroo come close to using his mouth like this. So Kenma knows how deep he is; how Kuroo has met and exceeded every single expectation. How he’s gone too far to turn back now.

Kenma pants into the thick material of his hoodie, trying to get enough air when it feels like every pass of Kuroo’s tongue pushes the oxygen from his lungs. He’s overheating, almost suffocating from his own stubbornness. Yet still he refuses to come up for air. He holds out until he’s biting at the black fabric, trying to keep his mouth from going so slack that he drools. But, no matter the fight he puts up, he can feel his body relaxing. He doesn’t tighten up with shame with every slick swipe of Kuroo’s lips or press of sharp teeth against his cheeks. He becomes painfully aware of his own cock hanging untouched between his legs. And, like always, Kenma’s edges begin to fray.

And Kuroo just keeps going, getting steadily more brazen with his tactics, until cautious licks have turned into a hot, open mouth and constant, vibrating moans. He eats Kenma out like he’s starving; like he’s been dying to do this for ages. And his strong fingers grasp at Kenma’s ass and thighs, pulling him back with an eagerness that will surely bruise. 

Just as Kenma thinks he’s caught up with Kuroo’s pace — just as he thinks he has a handle on his senses — Kuroo presses in.

“ _K-Kuro!_ ”

The console slips from Kenma’s hands, slides over the bed’s edge, and tumbles to the floor with a clatter. Distantly, Kenma knows it hit the ground hard and he should check on his precious device. But he can’t. Not when the tip of Kuroo’s tongue is stretching him open and effectively driving every logical thought from his head. 

He’s had a few things much larger than Kuroo’s tongue spread him open — Kuroo’s well girthed cock for one — so it shouldn’t shock Kenma like it does. It shouldn’t affect him so much. But it’s the right mix of intimate, dirty, and novel to make Kenma lose a little bit of himself. He looks up through teary eyes at Kuroo’s reflection. The heated stare that meets him makes Kenma unconsciously push his hips back. Wanting more. Wanting Kuroo deeper, to taste more, to take what Kenma is so willing to give.

And because Kuroo is an absolute bastard, he pulls out.

“Who’s the pervy one now, hm?” he breathlessly asks, open lips half pressed against Kenma’s cheek. He’s so _smug_.

Kenma has a brief moment of clarity and he sucks in air like he just remembered he needs it. “Fuck you.”

Kuroo smiles, big and wicked, and something sparks behind his eyes — an idea. Probably something wonderful and incomprehensibly filthy. He looks like he’s about to commit a crime when he growls, “You wanna watch, baby? I’ll give you a view.”

Before he can even guess what Kuroo has in store, Kenma finds himself on his back and Kuroo’s hands pressing against the underside of his thighs. It’s the first time they’ve made direct eye contact in what feels like an age and Kenma thinks it almost melts him. Because, somehow, Kuroo is able to bend Kenma’s legs back far enough that his hips raise off the bed.

“Wait, _Kuro_ wait,” Kenma warns with a slight wince, “You know I’m not that flexible.”

His boyfriend’s head blocks the warm light directly above and the shadows playing across his face only hide a fraction of his suggestive expression. “I know,” he says, “So it’s a good thing I’m strong.”

Kuroo moves forward and pulls Kenma’s hips onto his still clothed lap. The bulge against his lower back is undeniable. Kuroo is rock hard, straining against his flimsy shorts, and the first bit of pressure from Kenma’s body almost makes him lose his focus. His eyes roll back a bit and a soft, “Damn” tumbles from his smiling lips. But Kuroo has follow through. He pauses only for a moment before grabbing Kenma by the waist and pulling him up.

It’s a bit ungraceful and Kenma immediately feels ridiculous when they’re in the new position. It’s almost a little too _adventurous_. Kenma is practically suspended upside down, held around his midsection by Kuroo’s strong arms, with his legs loosely folded over Kuroo’s broad shoulders. His shoulders press against the tops of Kuroo’s knees and most of his back is flush with Kuroo’s warm chest. Kenma’s head lays back against the very edge of the bed, neck curved around the line of the mattress, blonde and dark brown hair cascading over the side. Immediately, he feels the blood rushing to his head.

“I swear if you drop me — _Ah!_ ” Kenma clamps his eyes shut and shoves a knuckle between his teeth to stifle his sounds.

It’s an easy angle for Kuroo. He just tilts his head down and Kenma is right there, completely unprotected and ready. He picks up where he left off: pushing in. He does so teasingly, just barely nudging the tight muscle open, and Kenma can’t decide whether or not he needs more time to get used to it. Or if he just wants Kuroo to plunge all the way in and know how it feels. 

And when he finally has the wherewithal to blink his eyes open, Kenma sees the view Kuroo intended: His own body on full display. 

Kenma doesn’t understand what Kuroo sees in him, physically. Because Kuroo’s perfect physique eclipses everything. Kenma stands in Kuroo’s shadow when people look from the outside in — eyes always trailing Kuroo’s tall, strong figure ever since he hit puberty — and he likes it that way. Kuroo keeps the attention away from Kenma’s own feeble and unimpressive stature. And yet, his sex-on-legs boyfriend returns to him again and again. He _wants_ Kenma. He _seeks_ him out. He thinks Kenma’s butt is _cute_. 

As he takes his fist from his mouth and looks at his reflection through bleary eyes, Kenma has an inkling of understanding.

Volleyball and forced physical activity have made him lithe and attractively slender. Lean lines of muscle span across his stomach and his chest, highlighting the masculine parts of himself Kenma always thought never existed. Pecs further pronounced because of the hollow in the center of his chest, hip bones jutting out beside the very beginnings of a v-shape low on his waist, the noticeable shift of his quads when his legs twitch on Kuroo’s shoulders. His flushed cock lays heavily against his stomach, just below Kuroo’s darkened eyes, and leaks a trickle of precum near his navel. He’s not large by any means, but the straight, ideal shape is pleasing to the eye — something he’s never noticed before.

And his face — he barely recognizes himself. Kenma has never been an expressive person. He keeps his feelings and his thoughts close to his chest. He thought he was that way all the time. But not now. 

Now, his eyes are half lidded and teary, pupils blown so wide he can barely see any gold. His mouth hangs open in a soft ‘oh’ shape, tongue lightly pressed against the edge of his front teeth to keep his voice from escaping. His cheeks and nose carry a pretty rosy color he’s only seen once — the time he took a few terrible swigs of whiskey from a bottle Kuroo had mysteriously acquired. And, for the first time, Kenma feels… sexy.

So _that’s_ what Kuroo sees.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kenma whispers when he feels Kuroo’s tongue push deeper, stretching him wider. He reaches back and grasps one hand against the bed’s edge. The other claws at Kuroo’s arm, nails scratching across skin and leaving temporary, pink lines.

Kenma’s vocal response encourages Kuroo. He tightens his grip around Kenma’s waist, fixes his eyes on the blonde’s reflection, and thrusts his tongue even further. Plunging. Ravishing. Tasting. He wraps his mouth around Kenma’s opening and moans like people do in porn, loud and breathy. But Kenma is beyond caring about Kuroo’s slightly hammy performance. He just loves the way the vibration feels, inside and out.

He let’s Kuroo do whatever he wants. Kenma doesn’t plead or beg; partly because his clouded head can’t create the words and partly because their connection is still strong and Kuroo is doing exactly what Kenma wants. The black haired teen comes up for air once, grinning from ear to ear, and Kenma expects him to make a signature, taunting remark. Much to his surprise, Kuroo just pants against the inside of his thigh, catches his breath, and watches Kenma through the mirror before ducking his head once more.

Kenma senses the end coming as his legs begin to tremble and a hot sweat breaks out on the small of his back. He’s overheating again, practically breathing steam as his whole chest heaves with each desperate gasp. Kuroo senses it too. The hand that isn’t holding Kenma upright moves to his cock. Kuroo wraps long fingers around him and Kenma practically mewls at the new sensation, oversensitive from neglect. But instead of stroking him to completion, Kuroo just holds him, barely brushing his thumb over the tip to take off the edge.

And then Kuroo does exactly what he knows will push Kenma off the cliff. He circles the tip of his wet tongue around Kenma’s rim, keeping his touch feather light. It’s teasing and soft and just the right amount of pressure to make Kenma almost scream. Instead, he takes his bottom lip between his teeth and his hands fly to Kuroo’s legs, clutching on for dear life as his nails almost tear holes in the fabric. Kuroo’s tongue is steady, passing over and around and around and around until Kenma is dizzy.

“Kuro— Kuro, I — ” he gasps.

Kenma clamps Kuroo’s head between his knees as he shakes apart. The first wave has Kenma shutting his eyes and holding his breath. He feels suspended for a moment — absolutely weightless — before crashing down at a hundred miles per hour in Kuroo’s arms. 

Distantly, he can hear Kuroo say, “That’s it, That’s it” as he softens his hold and flattens a hand against Kenma’s chest to keep him steady. And despite Kenma’s legs locked around him, Kuroo manages to turn his head and gently kiss the inside of his knee. Another wave hits him and Kenma whimpers something that could be his boyfriend’s name.

It’s always the gentle things. 

When he finally stops shaking and opens his teary eyes, Kuroo is watching him with such reverie that Kenma immediately feels embarrassed. Spend drips down his chest, his limbs lay relaxed and slack, and Kenma’s amazed expression betrays the bliss he feels buzzing under his skin. “Put me down,” he says, voice crackling. It isn’t a demand, but he is so fucked out of his mind that he doesn’t sugar coat his tone.

Kuroo complies, carefully lowering Kenma’s body to the bed as he shuffles backwards to make room. Blood recirculates to the forgotten parts of his body and he doesn’t know whether he likes the tingling sensation or not. Nekoma’s captain is still bright eyed and eager but he hesitates, leaning over Kenma and watching him catch his bearings. He’s waiting for permission.

But for once, Kenma doesn’t need time. The clarity of his want is almost shocking. His hands itch and his heart pounds against his ribcage; the unfamiliar feeling in his core steady and beating in rhythm with Kuroo’s heavy breathing like a drum. Like a second pulse. 

With almost no fanfare, Kenma reaches down and swiftly tugs the waistband of Kuroo’s shorts. His cock slips out and lands heavily against Kenma’s hip; ready and perfect. A sigh of relief escapes Kuroo’s lips. And before he can say anything — before Kuroo even has the wherewithal to make a request — Kenma licks his own palm, gathers the cum spilled on his chest in his fingers, and takes Kuroo in hand. It’s filthy. It’s the flavor of raunchy that would repulse Kenma if he wasn’t so intoxicated with orgasm and the look in Kuroo’s eyes. But he wants to show Kuroo that he has a few creative ideas of his own. He lost the battle, but he has no intentions of losing the war.

Kuroo’s jaw drops and he falls forward, just barely catching his body on shaky arms. He rests his forehead against Kenma’s chest, breathing fire against his heart. He moans with every movement of Kenma’s hand, quickly coming undone at Kenma’s steady pace.

It’s not enough. Not for Kenma at least, who looks down and feels dissatisfied with the top view of Kuroo’s unruly black hair. If Kuroo gets to watch him peak, then he should give Kenma the same privilege. Kenma takes Kuroo’s jaw in hand, fingertips just barely curling around the cut of bone near his jugular, and pushes his head up. 

“Look at me.” It’s a demand.

Kuroo’s eyes are shiny obsidian and beautiful. Not a thought behind them. His brows are pushed up high on his forehead, wet lips parted and panting, and the lines in his neck strain and flex with the slightest movement. He doesn’t fight against Kenma’s hard grip; doesn’t try to take back the reigns. Kenma’s back may be against the bed, he may have Kuroo between his legs, and Kuroo’s large body may be looming over him — but Kenma has the power. He always has. But he reminds Kuroo with a level, heated stare.

Kuroo only lasts another minute. Then, he screws his eyes shut and cums, splashing hot against Kenma’s stomach with a groan and a broken, “ _Oh, f-fuck._ ” 

Kenma slows his hand, coaxes out the last rush, and pulls his arm away when he senses Kuroo’s arms buckling. The black haired teen collapses against Kenma with a sigh. 

They stay that way for a long time; just breathing together and enjoying the silence. Kenma slings an arm over his head and blinks up at the hotel’s ceiling fan. His mind is clear. He’s happy. Kuroo’s hands slide up his sides and he glances down. His boyfriend is undoubtedly listening to his heartbeat. It’s steady now, pulsing hard and constant. 

“Kenma?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think we’re a weird couple?” Kuroo asks. 

The question takes Kenma off guard. His boyfriend is being uncommonly serious. After sex, Kuroo is usually playful and energetic.

Kenma frowns at the ceiling. “A little, yeah,” he answers. 

Sometimes he’s too honest.

Kuroo holds Kenma’s sides a little tighter and hums thoughtfully. Then, even quieter, he says, “Guess it never crossed my mind.”

Kenma doesn’t understand where the conversation is going. Instinctively, he doesn’t like it. He’s had that doubt himself — struggled with their incompatibilities — and has already dealt with them in his own head. Kenma’s mind is made up. So impatience edges on his tone when he says, “Then why did you ask?”

His boyfriend hesitates before saying, “Bokuto said something today that bugged me.”

Kenma internally sighs. Leave it to the Idiot of Fukurodani to ruin Kenma’s good mood and to mess with their relationship. He should quickly put the issue to bed and make Kuroo forget about whatever nonsense Bokuto put in his head.

“Hm?” His quiet response is meant to prompt an explanation from Kuroo. But, apparently, it isn’t explicit enough. Kuroo doesn’t say anything. He lays quietly for a few long moments. And just as Kenma opens his mouth to ask again, Kuroo pushes up to his knees. Kenma can feel the tacky patch between their skin as Kuroo peels away. Being dirty isn’t nearly as hot in the aftermath. 

Kuroo looks down at him with an unreadable expression and Kenma gets the feeling he’s made another misstep. But, for the life of him, he can’t figure out what it is. He wants Kuroo to kiss him, but he doesn’t. Kuroo probably thinks he shouldn’t after where his tongue as been and Kenma appreciates that. But he would rather feel their connection. Instead, Kuroo leans down and kisses the corner of Kenma’s jaw. It feels like he’s conceding defeat.

He tucks himself back in his shorts, shuffles off the bed, and walks to the bathroom sink before Kenma can find the right question to ask. 

Kenma finds himself quietly trapped in a whirlwind of emotions. He sits up. The sex was good and he didn’t leave Kuroo unsatisfied, so they should be fine. But the empty bed leaves him confused and frustrated and he just stares at Kuroo’s back as he diligently brushes his teeth. But Kenma hates playing the pathetic, longing one, so he goes about the process of pulling his clothes back on. He wipes his stomach with a tissue from the bedside table and shimmies on his boxers and joggers. He wants to take another shower but he'll wait for the morning.

Just as Kenma is picking up his console from the floor, Kuroo turns off the faucet and asks, “Do you _like_ being with me?” 

Kenma’s eyebrows furrow. “What?”

Almost angrily, Kuroo shoves his toothbrush in a cup on the counter and turns. His expression is resolved but… afraid. Kenma has never seen it before. “I know that’s a weird thing to ask right after what we just did but…” Kuroo says, “Sometimes I’m not sure. Sometimes it feels like you might… just be going along with it. It’s one thing to play hard to get and it’s another to be, I dunno, coerced into it? I don’t want to be that guy. Especially not with you. I don’t want this to be one-sided.”

From Kenma’s perspective, it’s nonsense. Pure and utter nonsense. He kneels on the bed and watches Kuroo across the room like he’s just sprouted a second head. But as the gears in his head turn, he begins to comprehend Kuroo’s concerns. Kenma isn’t very affectionate. At times, he can be downright cruel. 

_You’re a menace. On the court and off._

_Get on with it._

_Shut up._

_Fuck you._

But, after so many years, he assumed Kuroo understood the way he operated. And it dawns on Kenma that he may have gravely misread Kuroo’s needs for a long time.

Kenma is quiet for a stretch, lost in his own guilty thoughts, and Kuroo fills the silence, “I feel like I should’ve brought this up before we — ya know — ”

“Before you flipped me upside down and ate me out?” Kenma finishes, patience finally run out.

Kuroo balks. “ _Oi._ You get to say _that_ , but I can’t say your ass is cute? That’s a double standard.”

Kenma stares at Kuroo.

Just one, simple phrase could clear up the whole issue. A phrase that is probably years overdue. But Kenma doesn’t know how to make the sounds. He’s said it in other ways. When he rubs the tension out of Kuroo’s knotted muscles after practice or a game. Or when he gives Kuroo his ‘extra’ milk bread in the morning when he’s forgotten to eat breakfast. Or when he stares Kuroo in the eyes and lets him into the most intimate parts of himself. Kenma thought that was enough. But all it took was one stupid comment from one stupid friend to undo all the affection Kenma had worked so hard to give.

Now, he realizes their love languages may be completely different. And change is hard for Kenma, but it isn’t impossible.

Kenma places his console on the bedside table nearby and asks, “Do you know why I like games so much, Kuro?” 

The black haired teen rubs his forehead. “You’re avoiding the subject.”

“No, I’m…” Kenma starts. He shuffles to sit cross legged in the middle of the bed, giving Kuroo the attention he craves. “I’m trying to answer the best way I know how.”

Kuroo sighs. Then, he nods and leans back against the bathroom counter. “Okay. Well, you like video games because you… I dunno, you like games. You’ve always liked games. I don’t know how this has to do with — ” He brings himself back down when Kenma raises his eyebrows. “You like winning,” is the answer he finally comes up with.

“There’s a little more to it than that,” Kenma says. After all these years Kuroo still doesn’t get it. “It’s because there’s a specific objective. Most of the ones I play anyway. You’re supposed to go from Point A to Point B. You can do side quests along the way, mess around if it’s a big world, but there’s usually a main storyline. If you do it right, then you’re set up to win. You just need the right strategy. The right tools and the right stats. Every game is beatable. It’s satisfying.”

“Uh-huh.” Kuroo clearly has no idea where this is going.

“But, unlike games, real life isn’t set up for people to win,” Kenma continues, “The playable world is too big. I have no idea what the rules are half the time. I thought the older I got, the more I would understand. But what I’ve figured out is that no one _really_ knows the point. They just pretend they do.” The moment Kenma acknowledged that the world was full of fakes, the less anxiety he had about his own life and choices. He rests his head on a fist. “It’s bad storytelling in my opinion. There’s no specific endgame. Everyone’s main quest is different and you sort of have to figure out what yours is along the way.”

Kuroo crosses his arms. He looks scared again. But Kenma is almost to his point.

“But, whatever the endgame of life is, I think it’s like the games that have different endings. Like, tiers. If you do well, then you get the good ending. If you do poorly, you get the bad ending. And if you do everything just right, then you get the perfect ending.” 

“Okay.”

“I’ve thought about it. What the different endings of my life would look like. Good and bad.” Kenma’s heart hammers against his chest and it feels like it could burst from his body. He pushes a lock of blond hair behind his ear and finally says, “I think you’re part of my perfect ending, Kuroo. In my perfect ending, we’re just like this.”

At first, Kuroo is frozen. Nothing in his expression changes. He stands rooted to the bathroom tile like a statue, petrified to the spot by Kenma’s confession.

Kenma almost dies in the silence.

A second later, Kuroo is on top of him; big and warm and pushing him down into the mattress just like before. But now, he presses their lips together in a kiss that Kenma has only ever experienced vicariously. Through movies and television and games. Real people never kiss with that much passion, with so much drive and force that they practically suck the life out of the people they love. But Kuroo does. It takes all of Kenma’s focus not to just be swept away. He runs his hands up Kuroo’s arms and up to his neck, carding his fingers through short black locks and holds on for dear life.

And when he’s exhausted every possible thing he could do with his tongue, lips, and teeth, Kuroo comes up for air. He’s happy and invigorated; like he is when they win a match. And Kenma can’t help but break into a rare smile.

“For a second there, I thought you were gonna break up with me,” Kuroo admits.

Kenma rolls his eyes. “Is that what Bokuto said?”

“Maybe,” Kuroo says, almost sheepishly. “I don’t know! You started on this long-winded video game metaphor and I thought maybe that’s how you were gonna break it to me gently and — ”

Kenma pulls his boyfriend down for another kiss to wipe away the rest of the doubt. And when they break, Kenma grins against Kuroo’s lips and says, “For someone so arrogant you are shockingly insecure.”

It’s a teasing insult, like the ones before. But Kuroo doesn’t falter. He just keeps grinning and says, “Had I known licking your asshole is what it took to get you to confess, I would’ve done it a lot sooner.”

Kenma weakly pushes at his chest. “You’re so crude.”

Kuroo knocks Kenma’s hand away and leans back in. “What was that? I can’t hear you over the sound of true love.”

“I take it back. All of it.”

“You don’t mean that.”

He didn’t. 

But instead of keeping that thought to himself, Kenma admits, “No, I don’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kenma is a babe and a power bottom in the making and no one can tell me otherwise. And Happy Belated Birthday to the sexy sexy Tetsuro Kuroo.
> 
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